


Chasm Shadows

by Kogiopsis



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, SANDERSON Brandon - Works, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: M/M, WoR spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kogiopsis/pseuds/Kogiopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A birthday gift for <a href="http://alphonseactualkittenelric.tumblr.com/">Silver</a>, who asked for "terrible Tien-issues Kalarin".  I was only too happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasm Shadows

It happens when they’re down in the chasms, nominal spear practice long since forgotten, one of Kaladin’s hands halfway up Renarin’s shirt and Renarin laying kisses in a steady line from Kaladin’s collarbone up to his jaw - Kaladin’s breath hitches and he freezes, going stiff under Renarin’s hands.  After a second he exhales in a whoosh, drawing his head back and pressing himself into the wall as far away from Renarin as he can get, pulling his hands away and curls them across his own chest protectively.

Renarin steps back, willing himself to stay calm.  “Kaladin, did -” but Kaladin shakes his head in a jerky ‘no’.  He slides down the wall and then falls forward, landing hard on his knees.  There’s something about it that’s horrifying - this doesn’t happen to Kaladin; Kaladin is steady and strong; Kaladin is a leader and a soldier; Renarin is the one who collapses on the ground shaking, not Kaladin.

But Kaladin is the one staring wide-eyed at the floor of the chasm today, the one whose shoulders tremble, whose breath comes with harsh sucking sounds as if his lungs can never actually be filled.  And Renarin is the one standing, watching.

 _Doing nothing_ , he thinks, and shakes his head.  He may not know exactly what’s happening to Kaladin, but he can make a better-than-average guess at how to react.  Moving slowly, he kneels next to Kaladin, making sure to leave the space in front of him clear in case he feels the need to get away.  He lays one hand on Kaladin’s shoulder very lightly, gauging his reaction: there’s no flinching, no trembling other than the shaking that wracks Kaladin’s entire body.

“I’m here,” Renarin murmurs.  “I’m here; you’re safe.”  It’s what his father says to him when he has attacks, and for all that he doubts he could protect Kaladin the words come unbidden.

Kaladin lists sideways until he’s leaning into Renarin’s chest and sobs, open-mouthed, loud, and harsh enough that Renarin flinches at first.  Then he recovers and wraps his arms around Kaladin’s shoulders, holding him as securely as he can.  It can’t really be called crying, what Kaladin’s doing; there are no tears, and each sob makes his body convulse a little in a wave-like motion up his spine.  His hands are still curled into fists tight against his chest.  Renarin tries to rub circles on Kaladin’s back to comfort him, but this proves difficult; he settles for readjusting his hold a bit so that he can stroke Kaladin’s hair instead.

“Shhhshhhshhhshhh; you’re safe,” he says, over and over and over, and after some time the sobs that had echoed through the chasm are replaced by shorter, quieter noises, and then by silence.  Renarin keeps combing his fingers through Kaladin’s hair until his shaking stops and his breathing steadies - harsh, after all that, but slower and more even.  Renarin, too, falls silent and stills his hands, and lets go immediately as Kaladin pushes himself up into a sitting position.

His face is tinged pink, and he scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand as if he’d been crying, though Renarin is reasonably sure he wasn’t.

“Do you want to talk?” he asks.  Kaladin shakes his head, then stops and nods slowly but says nothing.  They sit in silence, not looking at each other, until Kaladin speaks.

“Six years ago I was - I had just joined the army with my brother and -” he stops, swallows hard, continues.  “It was our third battle, a bad one.  They put him on the front lines - he wasn’t supposed to be there; he had no training, no - no chance.”

Renarin knows, with a sinking feeling, where this is going.

“His squadleader called him a ‘liability’.  He - he used my brother and two boys like him as distractions - used their  _deaths_  as distractions to buy time for the  _real_  soldiers.”  Kaladin’s mouth twists sideways with anger, and Renarin reaches out to lay a comforting hand on his knee.  Kaladin covers it with his own and glances up at Renarin for the first time since he collapsed.  He looks away quickly, but it’s progress.

“I couldn’t get there in time to save him.”  Kaladin’s voice is quiet and somehow fragile, brittle like dry shalebark.  “But I got there in time to watch him die.”

Renarin turns his hand palm-up so that he can curl it around Kaladin’s and squeeze.  After a moment Kaladin squeezes back.

“I’m sorry,” Renarin says.  It feels hollow and simplistic, but Kaladin just nods.

“It was six years ago; I should be able to - to think about him without feeling like this.”

“My father lost his brother ten years ago and it haunts him every day,” Renarin replies.  “I - thought I’d lost Adolin at the Tower battle, until you brought them back, and even that - I can’t imagine what it would be like, but it can’t be easy to recover from.”

To his surprise, Kaladin laughed - a short choppy sound, but recognizably a laugh of sorts.

“Thinking about Adolin is what brought this up,” he says by way of explanation, when Renarin tilts his head in question.  “I was wondering what he’d say if he knew why we come down here together and - that made me think about how I’d have felt, if Tien had li- if he had courted someone.”

“Adolin would be  _furious_ ,” Renarin says with a wry smile, trying to keep Kaladin’s mind in the present.  “He was angry enough that I joined Bridge Four, and I think he grinds his teeth down a little every time I salute you.”

Kaladin’s lips twitch upwards, just slightly, and he leans over to give Renarin a light brush of a kiss.

“Perhaps we had better get back to camp, then,” he murmurs, “before he gets too angry.”

Renarin grabs Kaladin’s shirt collar and pulls him close for a real kiss, warm and lingering and sensual, only letting go when he needs to breathe and even then resting his forehead against Kaladin’s, their noses brushing.

“If you insist, Captain,” he whispers.


End file.
